Smoldered
by LifeLoveLoathing
Summary: Once again, it came down to his making a choice between conscience and impulse. Impulse always won; she always won. Alternate ending to and continuation of Smoked. E/O centric.
1. Blame

**A/N: I wasn't a fan of the ending of **_**Smoked**_**. You probably weren't either. Here is my interpretation of what should have happened over the last few minutes of the finale. The chapters proceeding will be my twisted little version of season 13. Enjoy! Or don't... it's up to you. **

**Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I do not own Law & Order: SVU. My summer would probably be much more interesting than it is shaping up to be if I did. But, hey, Dick Wolf! If you're looking for cheap help, you could totally offer me a job. **

**_  
><strong>**Smoldered  
><strong>A Law & Order: SVU FanFic by  
>LifeLoveLoathing<p>

He had to do it

He _had_ to.

He felt the cold metal, covered in a sheen of his own sweat, slip against his hand as it shook. His hand was shaking. His hand never shook. He'd always had steady hands.

_"Elliot, put it down."_

The voice was far off, and in his deluded state, he couldn't tell who it was coming from. He decided, though, that whoever was speaking was probably of a sounder mind than he . He let the weapon slip from his loosening grasp, onto the floor.

It had already done too much damage.

But he had to do it.

He had to.

_Right?_

_"I got it on the street. It was so easy."_ She said the words from her position sprawled on the floor next to him. She choked the desperate words through a mouthful of her own blood.

Blood that was shed at his hand.

His shaking hand.

They were so innocent, her words; her confession of the most striking kind of guilt. They were so pure, so ignorant - yet chillingly conscious - of the horrors of the world. He knew at once that she didn't deserve her fate.

Jenna did not deserve her tragic fate because her mother did not deserve her fate either.

But neither did Olivia.

Olivia.

From his place on his knees, he lunged across the floor of the squad room in an attempt to move from one laying figure to another. He lacked the strength necessary to move his frame, though, and he fell, frantically grasping for the life he knew was not there.

He watched her. She lay on the hard linoleum. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted. Her chest heaved. Her hair was fanned across her face. She was absolutely beautiful, he thought.

Save for the small pool of blood rapidly growing in size beneath her.

He had to do it.

_For her._

He screamed a low, strangled sound that presented itself as a deep sob as it fell from his throat.

He looked around the room, trying to find someone on whom to place the blame. It was the fault of the officers downstairs, who neglected to search her when she entered the precinct? Why wasn't she subject to be checked by a metal detector?

It was Jenna's fault for purchasing the gun and losing control. It was the illegal street vendor's fault for selling the gun to Jenna in the first place, without a permit - without any care for anyone else.

It was the officers' fault again, for not removing that piece of scum from the streets sooner, for not removing him at all. Why weren't they on top of things?

It was Luke Ronson's fault. For raping Jenna's mother and starting all of this shit. It was Eddie's fault for killing her. It was that damn ATF agent's fault. He was to blame for giving Eddie the gun that scarred Jenna just as much as his own did.

It was Jenna's fault, again, for thinking she could solve her problems with violence. For subscribing to the belief of an eye for an eye. For not getting the help she needed.

It was everyone's fault, for not giving that help to her.

It was Olivia's fault, for escorting the girl into the squad room, for introducing her to the men who had so savagely ruined her young life. It was 0livia's fault for assuming youthful innocence in the wake of pain. It was Olivia's fault for her ability to trust. It was Olivia's fault for her natural tendency to be so nurturing.

_It was his fault._

It was his fault for believing. It was his fault for ignoring what occurred all around him. It was his fault for being so blind. He should have seen the pain in the young girl's eyes. He should have known that such a loss would cause her to become so unhinged. He should have predicted her actions.

He should have turned around just one second earlier than he did. He should have seen Jenna walk back to the center of the squad room from the elevators. And if he had, he would have seen her wielding her illegal pistol without abandon to avenge the wrongful death of her mother.

And it was his lack of attention that caused the deaths of three suspects, an innocent nun, and - at his hand - a young, hurting girl. All because she dared to point the gun at his innocent partner and fire.

Olivia.

_Why Olivia?_

Olivia, who did nothing but try to help, protect, and nurture, was bleeding out on the cold linoleum of the squad room with a bullet in her chest. And it was all his fault.

And because of her - because of his undying need to protect her - he shot the one who hurt her.

A little girl, who reminded him so much of his own daughters, who was just trying to gain vengeance for the sake of someone she loved.

And in thinking about it, he did the same.

He should have shot himself.

Another sob escaped him. This time, it hailed from his mangled chest; the one that also housed a broken heart. He propped his body up on his forearms, trying to gain leverage over the situation and a view of the massacre he helped to create.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a voice in his ear: "Elliot," it was Fin, this time he was sure. "The buses are on their way. They're almost here."

He spoke to the floor when he responded. "Just one," his voice was low and guttural. "We only need one." There was no hope for the others. "Just for Liv. Make sure they get Liv. She needs help."

And he had chosen her again.

_  
><strong>AN: I have the next few phases of this story plotted out, but there is no concrete plan for it in the long run. I'm totally opened to interpretations and suggestions. Any and all feedback will be considered and greatly appreciated, either via review (reviews are fun!) or Twitter (andemilywrites).**


	2. Grief

**A/N: Thank you for all of your reviews! (Even the not-so-nice ones... all feedback is good!) I'm sorry it took me so long to update this. The Mariska news hit, and then the Chris news hit... HARD. And like everyone else, I'm sure, I was totally heartbroken. I took a while to literally go through every single one of the twelve stages of grief. I was unsure about how to continue this, in light of recent developments, and after playing around with the plot a bit, I decided to just go with my original plan. I'm not acknowledging any departures... I refuse. From here on out, I'll be updating much more regularly. I promise!**

**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf owns SVU, not me. If I did own SVU, Christopher Meloni would have a contract. He would be given anything he wanted in order to stay... And I do mean anything. ;)**

**Smoldered  
><strong>A Law & Order: SVU FanFic by  
>LifeLoveLoathing<br>Chapter Two

He scrubbed a sweaty hand over his tired face, feeling the skin ripple and stretch under his palm. His hand absentmindedly traveled to the top of his head where he was almost surprised to find no texture on which to relieve his frustration.

He'd shaved his head in an act of anticipation of his rapidly-receding hairline twenty-three years prior. He never once regretted his decision, never longed for the muddy brown locks that once graced the head of a more youthful version of himself: not until this day. On this day, Donald Cragen wished for something to twist and pull his fingers through.

On this day, his two finest detectives were both wounded in the line of duty – one physically and one emotionally – and he could not help but feel as if he were somehow partially responsible.

Olivia was broken and bloodied and torn in two by a bullet shed from a wild, grieving hand. A shot to the abdomen was all he knew, and as he ran into the aftermath of the squad room after hearing the gunfire and saw one of his best bleeding out on the cold linoleum, he dared to think for a second that the pain he felt in his gut was similar to the pain she felt in her own.

And then there was Elliot; Elliot, who did everything in his power to save his partner, even if it meant sacrificing another. Elliot, who would instinctively and impulsively put the safety of his partner before his own life, his own career, and his own wellbeing. Elliot, who was currently waiting in the hallway, looking every bit as battered thrown into his chair as Olivia was on the gurney in the trauma room.

He had remained equidistant between Olivia and Jenna when the medics arrived, and insisted on accompanying her in the ambulance. And when they reached the hospital, and the doctor informed the anguished detective that he would not be able to hold her hand through treatment, he promptly clenched the displaced hand into a fist and sent it sailing into the nearest wall.

And now he sat, with his head in his hands, and his elbows seemingly permanently attached to his knees, thoughts muted to the world.

It was only when Captain Cragen received the signal he had been waiting for through a beckoning phone that he attempted to reach out to his pained subordinate down the hall.

"Elliot?" He called out to him softly, but to no avail. The man's mental shield could not – would not – be penetrated. "Elliot…" It was only a twitch in the younger man's forearms that gave Cragen the insight that he was at least heard, if not formally acknowledged.

And when he realized that Elliot would not turn around, he made his announcement to the side of his slouched frame. "Elliot, IAB is here."

Elliot's face remained firmly planted in the palms of his hands, but his captain's announcement elicited a growl from him: "Tell Tucker he can fuck himself."

"Elliot, you know the drill..." the older man made an attempt at rationalization but his voice trailed off as he realized that it was moot. This would be the detective's second run-in with the Internal Affairs Bureau in as many weeks. Both offenses involved minors, and this one involved the loss of a minor's life. If this did not push him over the ledge that he was already dangerously close to, Cragen didn't know what would.

Elliot seemed to know that too. "They're just gonna suspend me." He continued to hold his head in his hands. "Why go through all the formalities?"

"She was shooting blind, man. That's the story. That's what you tell them." Fin had appeared in the hallway, and at some point flung himself into the chair next to Elliot in order to intervene in the conversation. "You did the right thing..."

"The hell I did!" The words finally triggered his movement, and he shot up from his doubled-over position. He took his gun and badge from off their respective clips on his waistband and thrust them onto Fin's lap. "Give them these. Let them take my shield away. I don't give a shit."

"El..." Fin started, but he was cut off before he could finish.

"I shot to kill."

Cragen sucked in a sharp breath at Elliot's words, his brutal and shocking honesty. He prayed that Tucker was not close enough to hear the truth.

The distraught detective, his eyes thundering with emotional turmoil, turned to look at his captain as he made his confession. "I knew what I was doing," he said evenly, "I watched that bullet go into Olivia and I thought she was gone. Shit, she might still die. And I - I lost it. I acted on pure instinct. I didn't care who she was or what she was going through. I didn't care that she was seventeen. I wanted her dead." He looked to the ceiling. "I knew what I was doing."

Cragen couldn't stand to listen to anymore. "Stabler, stop..."

He spoke over his superior. "And that's why I don't deserve to be a cop. That's why I don't deserve to be a fucking human being. So if they wanna suspend me indefinitely, let 'em." He looked back over at Fin, his eyes locking on the familiar golden badge, still resting in his colleague's lap. "'Cause I'm not talking. Not when she's still lying on that table... I'm not gonna put up with this."

"Elliot," Fin's voice was softer than either of the other two men had ever heard it, "Why?"

"Because I'm not sure if I regret it yet. I don't know if I'm sorry."


End file.
